


indistinct

by angelheartbeat



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Bruce Banner Feels, Bruce Banner Needs a Hug, Electrocution, Heavy Angst, M/M, Torture, Whump, this shit... dark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-06-06 10:21:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15192707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelheartbeat/pseuds/angelheartbeat
Summary: Bruce is tortured and alone, unable to Hulk out and experimented on relentlessly, when the Avengers are sent to retrieve him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> oh man
> 
> tw for like torture and violence,, its not particularly bloody or gory but its a bit Yikes
> 
> sometimes u just gotta torture ur fav character, u feel?

There's a brown stain on the ceiling.

Bruce thinks it might have been red, once, crimson as a sunset, the colour of blood. His blood.

But time has passed, and the sunset has faded, and the ringing of his own screams in his ears has died down. And the stain has gone brown.

 _That's the nature of blood_ , Bruce muses, eyes glassy. _To fade out. To start off as a brilliant scarlet, and to submit to the world until its just a murky brown spot on the ceiling of a highly questionable facility._

He wonders how the blood got up there.

The ceiling looks quite far away. Its hard to tell, given that his eyes are glazed and puffy, unable to focus properly. He can acutely feel a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead, over his nose. Its odd. The room is cold.

The room is too cold, in fact. Were he more conscious he would shiver. But his body is numb and dulled, weakened by the drugs flowing through his veins. Maybe they're what's cold. Its hard to even tell the difference between left and right in the state Bruce is currently in.

His breath is harsh in his throat. He can feel it rattling around in his lungs, shaking something loose, tearing something free that was deeply embedded in him. Even the slightest movement jolts his ribs, which may well be broken. They very likely are.

With more effort than usually necessary, Bruce closes his eyes and heaves a shuddering sigh. He's going to die here, he's sure of it, splayed out on a slab for people claiming to be scientists to poke around in his insides whilst he screams until his voice is hoarse. That is, if he can actually die. He's not quite sure of that fact. At this point, it seems unlikely.

His fingers twitch by his sides and he aches to tear free, but his arms are strapped tight to the table beneath him. If only he could allow the Hulk to take over, but the sedatives flowing freely into his body prevent his control loosening. They don't prevent his presence, though - they never could, and Bruce can feel Hulk itching to get out, roaring and smashing the insides of Bruce's skull to get free and pound the people keeping him here into bits. It's almost painful, but considering what else Bruce has gone through in this facility, it's nothing he can't handle.

He wonders how long he's been here, pinned down like a wild animal and wasting away where he wasn't being torn apart. It could be days. It could be longer, much longer, but his perspective is so distorted he can barely remember his own name, barely think around the splotch of pain, dark and malevolent, clouding the centre of his brain. Where it doesn't obscure, Hulk paces, growls.

He wishes he could believe that this pain was genuinely in the name of research. Discovering more about how he worked without the Hulk, the regeneration - perhaps, then, it would be marginally more bearable. His existence was an impossibility, that he knew. But time had stretched on, and his own screams had reverberated so often, and so many faceless scientists had filed in and out to rip him to shreds and leave him scattered, that he knew it was just purely to torture him. Thaddeus Ross had always hated him, after all. At some point, he'd just gone off the deep end.

Opening his eyes again, Bruce studies the brown stain. If he squints, it looks almost like the Hulk himself. How ironic.

Is it blood?

It seems unlikely.

Bruce is in too much pain to care.

The stain mocks him, taunts him. He used to be a world-renowned scientist, able to identify substances and issues at a glance. Now here he is, strapped to a table, smeared with blood, exhausted and bruised and close to vomiting. He is no scientist. He's a monster. Ross said it himself - a lot, actually. Every time he entered the room, smiling like a maniac, there to gloat his win. To boast. To display his victory over the great monster and over the bigger monster that housed him.

_Because you are the bigger monster, aren't you, Bruce? The Hulk is one thing, but to be the man who unleashes him on the world... well, I certainly can't imagine being so horrendously evil._

Bruce weakly lets his head hit the table again, having raised it somewhat to examine the stain. Distantly, he tries to tell himself it's not true - that Ross is the monster, for doing _this._ But no matter how hard he tries, he can't shake the feeling that Ross is right. He  _is_ a monster. He deserves this.

When he'd arrived, he resisted. He fought against Ross' men, struggled and yelled and hunted desperately for an escape, any crack in the sterile white room that he could exploit and slip through. But it was perfect, unblemished. Before long, the perfect white floor became slippery and crimson with his blood. He'd tried his hardest, was unable to hold back the cries that tore their way free from his chest, pulled violently against his restraints and burned with the desire to rip the satisfied smirk off of Ross' face.

Now, when the scientists entered, sterilized and protected against the creature tied to the table, he lay there and allowed them to rip into him. The pain washed over him like a tsunami every time, but no longer would he allow Ross the pleasure of watching him writhe in agony. When the scientists pulled his guts loose and lay them across his chest, he made hardly a sound. When they pumped him full of drugs that made lava stream through his veins, he merely teared up somewhat, twitching involuntarily. When they sawed one of his fingers clean from his hand, he barely whimpered.

Gently, he runs his thumb across the stump where his ring finger used to be. The permanency of it rings in his head. Broken bones he can recover from, punctured lungs will heal with the Hulk (that being if he was ever let free again), but he has his doubts about removed digits magically returning.

He'd wanted to marry Betty someday. Now he didn't think that he'd even have a finger for the ring.

The idea was ridiculous, and he almost laughs. Even if he still had his finger, he doubted he could even look at Betty anymore without either throwing up or breaking down.

There's a noise Bruce wishes he didn't know so well, the door scraping open against the floor, and Bruce doesn't even have the energy to flinch anymore. He keeps staring at the stain, as though by force of will alone he can force himself out of his body and away from this situation, away from the pain he can already feel in every sinew of his body.

"Hello, Dr Banner."

The voice is malevolent, intimately familiar, and Bruce doesn't even do Ross the honour of tilting his head to look at him. The General is seemingly displeased by this, grabbing Bruce's chin harshly and twisting his neck to look him in the eyes. There's an ominous click, and Bruce's eyes burn with hatred and fury, even behind the dull sheen of defeat.

"How are we doing today, Doctor?" Ross asks, voice false-compassionate. He knows how Bruce is doing. He can see it in the bloodied nose, the puffed up eyes, the bruises in the shape of fingers around his neck.

"Never better," Bruce chokes out. Ross narrows his eyes, tightens his grip on Bruce's jaw before dropping him and allowing him to hit his head on the table. "What fun activity do we have planned for today?"

His voice is thick, mouth parched and lips cracked, but his sarcasm is untouchable. He's wearing his defiance like armour, like it's the only thing shielding him from breaking completely - and, to be honest, it is.

"Don't get cocky," Ross says sharply. Bruce closes his eyes and breathes a chuckle.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"Sometimes I consider letting your greener side out for a run around," Ross continues, conversationally, as though he's not a psychopath chatting away to his victim. "But I don't think he'd be terribly happy to see me."

"Sure would help your research," Bruce says dryly, but his heart is leaping at even the possibility of hulking out. He's been himself for so long - he'd never think that he'd _miss_ turning into the Hulk, but its like being starved of oxygen, like losing feeling in one of his limbs, like being stranded in the sea without a lifejacket. He hadn't realised just how big of a part of him Hulk was.

That just worsens how big of a monster he himself is, though.

"There's something new, and... shocking, due for today. Get up."

Bruce tugs at the restraints. "Do you want me to fly, too?"

Ross narrows his eyes, seemingly doing his best to mask his confusion. Its comforting that Bruce still has wits enough to outsmart him, even simply with jokes.

"Sorry. I thought we were saying things that were impossible. You forget these?"

Bruce gestures as best he can to the straps holding him tight to the table, and Ross' eye twitches. He nods to a corner of the room, presumably to a camera, and in seconds a group of guards hustle in and start roughly removing Bruce from the table, yanking the IV pumping drugs into him from his arm and tearing away the straps holding him down. It irritates his wounds, sending searing pain up and down his body and forcing him to grit his teeth as he swings his legs around.

"I can walk," he snaps at a guard who attempts to grab his arm to drag him along, but the moment his feet hit the floor his knees crumple and send him flying, only to be caught by rough hands around his biceps.

"Looks like you can't," Ross taunts, as the guards drag Bruce out of the room and down the hall.

Despite being taken, dragged or walking down these halls who knew how many times, Bruce still had not a clue where they were. Underground was his main suspicion. The facility seemed far too expansive for an aboveground shady operation. All he knew was that everything was unnaturally white and clean, and not a single window was in any of the rooms or halls he'd been in.

Briefly, Bruce considers just running. He's considered it a lot in the past, almost every time he's been dragged down corridors and roughly shoved through passageways. Every time, he's pushed down the urge. Even now, without the Hulk-repressor flowing through him, he's sure he wouldn't be able to summon the other guy. His presence in Bruce's mind is too diminished. So it would just be him, sprinting down unfamiliar halls, panicking, and he's terrified of what they would do to him for trying to escape. Its easier to just take the pain as it was.

They pull him into an unfamiliar room, strap him into a chair. He barely pays attention, eyes flicking around to try and discern whats going to happen to him. Its a testament to how deeply the pain, pain, _pain_ is affecting his comprehension skills. It's only when he glances down at the chair he's strapped into that it dawns on him.

"I told you it would be shocking," Ross, appearing in the doorway, says with a malevolent smile. He moves far too close to Bruce's face for comfort.

"Wouldn't have thought you were one for wordplay," Bruce replies, even as his heart drops into his stomach. Ross nods slowly, ominously, before moving away and signalling to someone behind Bruce. A helmet is brought roughly down on his head and he flinches.

"Whenever you're ready for us to go, just say the magic word," Ross says, with a twisted smile, and it's not the first time that Bruce has been filled with revulsion at the fact that Ross _enjoys_ this.

"Blow me?" he replies with a sarcastic smirk. _Don't ever give him the satisfaction of knowing you're scared_ , Bruce thinks, bracing himself.

Even by bracing himself, he's not prepared for the volts of electricity shooting through him, and it takes all of his energy not to scream out in pain as his muscles contract and spasm. He's somehow hot and cold at the same time, and he can't even think around the pain, can only just remember that the electric chair was an execution method, that they're going to kill him, they're going to fucking kill him and he can feel his skin blistering and bubbling and he's pretty sure his heart isn't even beating anymore.

Unable to stop himself, he screams out in agony, voice hoarse and broken. It hurts so badly, _so badly_ , and he's sure that this is it, this is what's going to kill him. Under the straps and restraints, he can feel his skin twisting and stretching, presumably turning green in a violent attempt of the Hulk's to break free.

As soon as it begins, it's over, and Bruce slumps forward as far as the straps will allow, breathing heavily and tears building in his eyes.

"Are you trying to _kill_ me?" he spits out, more furious than he's ever been in his life. With the immediate pain subsided, he's back to having his mind so deadened that he can't seem to access the Hulk, particularly with the numbness spreading across his body. It's almost welcoming, after the burning pain of electrocution and the plethora of pain he'd been in previously.

"We wouldn't be opposed to it as a side effect," Ross replies, clipped with an edge of nastiness, and a wave of disgust surges in Bruce's stomach. There's also a good chance that it's vomit.

"You're a sick freak."

Ross moves closer to Bruce's face, expression calmly twisting into a sinister smile. Their eyes meet, Bruce's twitching involuntarily.

"At least I'm not a monster," Ross whispers, and if Bruce could move he would punch him across the room, Hulk be damned. "Go again."

Every thought in Bruce's head is ejected immediately as he's suddenly a lightning rod once again, volts coursing around his body and lighting him on fire, dousing him with ice, and he screams.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me @ me: wow lol why do you say youll write stuff and then never do. loser. die
> 
> also me @ me: wow bitch... ur mind...
> 
> anyway yeah hi this is back

At the exact same time, another man conducts electricity in a very different way. Thor watches jolts of lightning flicker between his fingers in fascination.

"Yo, Point Break," Tony says, wandering into the room whilst flicking one of his small portable screens. Thor glances over, his lightning bolts zapping into nothing.

"Yes, friend Stark?"

"We got a mission. You good to go?"

A smile spreads across Thor's face and he stretches, picking up Mjolnir and twirling it in his hands.

"As always! Are we being briefed by friend Rogers, beforehand?"

"Course. You know where to meet. Five minutes."

Thor feels a thrill through his veins at the thought of a new mission as Tony leaves, wondering just what the nature of it could be.

* * *

Thor's mission has tears spilling over his cheeks and screams tearing themselves loose from his throat as he shakes with the very thing Thor himself creates.

When the power stops Bruce shudders, shrinks into himself as much as he can. Not a thought besides _pain_ slips through the cracks in the blot of inky darkness his brain has become.

"So we've finally broken the monster," Ross comments, casting a glance up and down Bruce, who doesn't even have the consciousness to formulate a snarky reply. "I suppose we should let you recover somewhat. That would have killed a _person_  a hundred times over, after all. Get him out of my sight."

Bruce is limp in the hands of the guards who unstrap him and take him out of the door, not tense and resistant like he was. His head flops forward weakly, allowing himself to be manhandled and barely registering the movement with the spasms and numbness running through his body. They toss him back in the cell he occupies when he's not strapped to a table.

He finds himself lying on the slab that can barely be classed a bed, pulling the thin blanket over himself and shivering violently. His hands won't stop twitching.

He _has_ to get out of here. He'll die if he doesn't.

He tries to push down how welcoming that thought feels.

* * *

 "Okay. So in essence, we've heard word of a giant underground facility in a desert, where some members of the Army are housing a radioactive weapon, whether its a bomb or something else we don't know specifically."

"Are we going in guns blazing?"

"Pretty much. Mission objective is we need to disable the weapon if possible, and retrieve it to bring it back to SHIELD."

"But don't set off the weapon?"

"Don't set off the weapon."

* * *

Sleep is an impossibility with the simultaneous tension and looseness in all of Bruce's muscles, not to mention the pains chasing each other up and down his body. He just wishes he could lose consciousness somehow. But Hulk is almost not there at all, the barest hint of green at the back of his mind, and no matter how hard he tries he can't slip away into comfortable oblivion.

He spends a lot of time staring at ceilings, these days. There's not much else to do. 

If he's honest, he can't remember the last time he slept for longer than an hour or so, and even then his rest is riddled with pain and plagued with nightmares. It's volatile. The ceilings are solid, a comforting constant in the sea of pain he finds himself struggling to stay afloat in. They don't change. They don't tear him apart and leave him scattered, be that in his dreams or his reality. 

It's why that brown stain stood out, the one in the _testing room_. It was new, it was unusual. He's losing his edge, if it took him so long to notice that the blood became browned and dry. He's being sanded down slowly, crushed under the pressure of agonising pain, his mind eroding into nothing with every waking hour.

Time drags itself by. He lives in fear of the next time someone comes in to pull him around and tear him to shreds. 

His hands are still twitching.

Tears slide down his cheeks in slow motion. He barely feels alive.

* * *

An alarm starts blaring as the Avengers crash through the door of the facility, guards convening on the breach of security and being taken down with ease.

"Split up!" Captain America yells, punching a man in the throat. "Find the weapon and disable it! Clint, you stay here with me and take down the guards! Tony, try and hack into the systems to find any records they might have on the weapon!"

Everyone nods and runs (or flies) their separate ways to the steady sound of the alarm, prepared to take down any guards who try and stand in their way.

* * *

Bruce blinks as the alarm filters through his clouded brain.

Something's happening.

* * *

Thor fries a few guards with lightning, grins with glee as he smacks someone with his hammer. They haven't had a mission in so long, and while he's not necessarily a violent man, he misses the thrill of the fight.

Most of the rooms he checks are empty. Some house computers, or boxes full of files. He makes a mental note to check them later, or at least inform someone else of their presence.

Then he opens a door with a figure inside it, laid flat on a slab in the corner.

At first glance, he thinks the figure is a corpse. Then he looks closer, and raises Mjolnir threateningly at movement.

Then he looks even closer, and almost drops Mjolnir entirely.

The man is shivering, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling and fingers twitching madly. Thor almost recoils when he sees one of the fingers is missing. Tears are making their way down the mans face, and yet he makes no move to wipe them away. 

"What do you want," the man says hoarsely, chest rattling as he speaks. Its not a question.

"Who are you?" Thor demands, although his instincts are telling him this man is nowhere near a threat. Slowly, the man's head turns, and he squints at Thor.

"You're new."

A thought hits Thor. "Are you the weapon?"

The man stops, closes his eyes, and chuckles, turning his head back up to face the ceiling again. "Figures thats what Ross would call me," he says, before wincing.

"Is that a yes?" Thor asks, furrowing his brow. The man sighs deeply, before his face scrunches into pain once more.

"Why don't you leave," he suggests, words laced with pain and exhaustion. "It'll be better for everyone involved."

Thor frowns, glancing back at the door behind him before striding purposefully forward and gently, very gently, scooping the man into his arms, Mjolnir hung on his arm by her leather loop. The man hisses in pain before flopping limp, clearly in too much pain to resist.

Taking a second to tap at the communicator tucked away in his ear, Thor tries not to jostle the man too much. "Hello? I believe I may have located the weapon."

There's a crackle. "Thor?" Tony replies, sounding breathless. "That's great! What was it?"

"Uh..." Thor takes a second, glances down at the man limp in his arms, shaking and sweating. "Perhaps it would be best for you to see for yourself."

"Okay?"

"Thor, bring it to the entrance," Steve chips in. "We'll meet you there."

"Shall do."

The audio cuts out again, and Thor looks at the man in his arms. He looks to be barely breathing, just shivering.

"Are you okay?" he asks gently as he strides out of the room, and the man rattles out a chuckle.

"Stupid question," he mumbles, eyes closed. "Where are you taking me?"

"Out."

* * *

Bruce is almost too in pain to comprehend it, his eyes creaking open as he's carried amazingly gently through the corridors.

"You mean I'm gonna be free?" he asks, and his savior seems to mull things over for a moment.

"In a sense," he eventually says, carefully, and Bruce deflates. He should have known freedom was too good to be true. He should have known the rest of his life would be spent scraping himself up from the depths of hell, only to be tossed back down like a ragdoll. He should have known Ross now dictated his every move like a puppeteer, strings cutting into his flesh and making him dance.

He sees guards approach from the end of the corridor and sighs. His brief respite was over. It was back to counting down the seconds until his nightmare began again.

"Excuse me a moment," his not-quite-savior says politely, before placing him down, leant up against a wall. He then immediately springs into action, twirling the hammer he slips off of his wrist with ease and smashing it into the guards.

Electricity bounces from his hands, and Bruce flinches, all-too-recent memories flooding back into his mind and forcing him to cower away. Hulk stirs from the depths of his brain, bristles underneath the splotch of darkness. 

The guards lay still on the ground, and when the man stoops to pick Bruce back up, he shuffles away, making the man frown.

"Electricity," he whispers in lieu of explanation, and the man softly sighs.

"Its okay. I won't hurt you."

It's hard to believe. Almost impossible, in fact.

And so he doesn't.

He just stands up, and then runs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comment or ill let the pigs feed on your ears and it Wont be a pretty sight!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh holy christ i started this chapter in august and now its november jinkies how time flies

At the time he hardly has the thoughts to remember his fear of just  _running._ He's fueled by adrenaline, even as vomit surges in his chest and he has no fucking clue where he's going. He's out now, so why not take the opportunity to escape as best he can?

The blond man who saved him yells after him as he sprints away, but he's done abiding by other people's morals. He's just running, desperately zigzagging down corridors and skidding turns in a wild bid for freedom.

Everything in his body screams at him to stop, clangs and crashes and shrieks with pain, but he grits his teeth and speeds up instead. He'll lick his wounds later.

He slides down a corner, is faced with guards who spin when they hear him and ready their guns. But before they even have a chance to shoot he's turning on his heel and then he's gone again, breath coming slower than his movements and making him dizzy.

Hulk rouses a little more in his mind, growling past the restraints keeping him down.

Boots strike the floor in pursuit of him but he's quicker, swifter, lighter through lack of food and with determination burning in his eyes. The walls all blend into one another and he's just hoping for a flicker of luck to send him to an exit.

Eventually his lungs refuse to cooperate anymore and he slows down, rubbing away the black spots in the corners of his eyes. The alarm is still blaring, and it feels like its broadcasting his position, informing anyone and everyone that he's on the run.

Glancing around him, he swallows and forces himself to push on and keep moving.

He passes an open door and glances in whilst rushing past it, before slowing and moving backwards. Its the testing room. 

Bruce can't help himself but walk in, even against his better judgement, even as he immediately regrets it. The table he was strapped to for so long, went through so much on top of - it seems almost unimportant, sitting there in amidst a blank room. 

He glances up and almost laughs. The stain is still there. Of course it is - why wouldn't it be?

"Surprised you'd come here of your own free will."

Spinning around at the voice, everything in Bruce's body goes cold at the sight of General Ross in the doorway, grinning nastily.

"Ross," he croaks, clenching his fists.

"How did you get out?" Ross asks interestedly, sounding almost pleasant, but Bruce knows better than to trust that. 

"As if I'd be stupid enough to tell you."

Ross raises an eyebrow. "One of the, ah,  _intruders_?"

Bruce doesn't reply, but that's answer enough.

"Don't worry. They'll be dealt with before long. They may be tough, but we outnumber them a hundred to one. There'll be nothing left of them to Avenge with once we're through. Shall we sit?"

Gesturing to the table, Ross raises his eyebrows, and Bruce knows he has no choice but to comply. So he follows him and sits down next to him, heart thumping in his throat. Hulk once again shuffles himself in his head, perking up interestedly as the sedatives wear off.

As Bruce sits he puts his hand down directly into a sticky patch, and feels sick to his stomach when he looks at his hand and sees blood covering it.  _His_ blood. A reminder of everything.

"What more could you do to me?" he asks quickly, before Ross can get words out. "You've torn me apart a hundred times. You've got to be running out of ideas."

"I plan to make a deal."

Ross reaches behind himself, and Bruce watches apprehensively before he pulls out a gun and aims it at Bruce's chest. His heartbeat skyrockets.

"I'll give you over to these  _Avengers_ to do whatever they wish, in return for keeping our little operation here quiet. If they don't agree, or if you do your job wrong and don't go quietly, I'll let the beast loose. He'll rampage, and when the government gets word I'll mention that I know how to keep him under wraps. Which means you'll come right. Back. To me."

Bruce inhales shakily, eyes glued to the barrel of the gun pointed at him. "So either way I remain an experiment?" he asks, as lightly as he can.

"Its a lose/lose situation. There is no conceivable way you come out on top, because you see," continues Ross, pressing the barrel closer to Bruce's chest. "The monsters always lose. Now, come with me. We're going to take a walk."

* * *

Despondent, Thor trails back to where the action was, finding the rest of the Avengers snooping around the entrance and clearly waiting for him.

"What happened?" Clint asks. "Where's the weapon?"

"Gone," Thor replies miserably. "He ran away."

Tony makes a soft squawking sound. "I'm sorry,  _he?_ "

"Indeed. He was a man, clearly abused by whomever runs this facility."

"Thor," Steve says gently. "Are you sure this man was the weapon?"

"He called himself such. I see no reason he would have to lie."

"Don't worry," an unfamiliar voice calls out. "He's not lying."

The Avengers all turn and look down the corridor. Two men are walking towards them, stepping calmly over the unconscious bodies, one man holding a gun to the other's head. Instinctively, the Avengers rearrange themselves into a fighting formation, and the man with the gun chuckles and holds a hand up placatingly. 

"Don't fret. None of you are at risk here, as long as you comply with my demands. I'm General Ross."

Tony makes a grunting sound. "I've heard of you."

"Only good things, I hope. This here is Bruce Banner, and he is indeed the weapon you want so badly."

Tony grunts again. "I've heard of him too. Famous scientist, dropped off the grid a while ago after an experiment went wrong."

Bruce locks eyes with Thor, who shivers and adjusts his stance to be more threatening.

"Yes, well. If I shoot this gun, we'll all be dead within the minute, and I'm sure we can agree that none of us want that."

Ross chuckles, and is met with only stares.

"What are your terms?" Natasha asks.

"Ah, I'm glad you asked. You can have him, for free, no questions asked! He makes an excellent test subject. Regenerative abilities, you see. Very intriguing - you're a man of science, Tony, yes?"

"More engineering," Tony quips, but his voice sounds strained. "What do we do for you in return."

"You keep this little facility of mine under wraps. I keep doing what I want, and you get a free lab rat. We both come out on top."

"And Bruce?"

Ross snorts. "Who gives a shit?"

"General, this is a person we're talking about. We're not going to trade him as if he were a piece of meat." Steve says, cold as ice.

"I implore you to consider the alternative."

"Which is?"

Ross cocks the gun, and Bruce flinches.

Clint snorts. "You think that'll scare us?"

"It would if you knew what hid inside this little friend of ours."

"And what's stopping us from taking your deal and then returning Banner to wherever he wishes to go?"

Ross chuckles again, before melting back into seriousness, his words laced with poison. "I'd destroy you all."

"I'd like to see you try."

Everyone stares at Bruce, from whom the cracked, withering voice had come. He swallowed, clearly painfully aware of the barrel pressed against the side of his head.

"Shut up," Ross snaps.

"What are you going to do about it? Shoot me? Go on, then. Do it. Prove what a wonderful little weapon you have here. It'll be easy enough,  _General._ Just one simple bullet."

No one speaks. No one breathes.

"Thats what I thought," Bruce breathes. "You've thought this whole plan through, haven't you? Except for the fact that you don't scare me anymore. And you made one big mistake."

"I doubt that," Ross scoffs.

Bruce locks eyes with him.

"You forgot the sedative. And Hulk's angry."

The latter sentence devolves into an animalistic growl of words, and the Avengers take a step back as Banner's flesh begins to shift and twist beneath his skin, green running through his veins and dyeing his body. His shirt rips open as he grows, like nothing they'd ever seen before, until he roars into life as a great green beast, eyes blazing with fury, directed solely at the man with a gun that suddenly seemed futile against the new threat.

Ross is as white as a sheet as the Hulk grabs him and throws his body against the nearest wall. A crack echoes through the air, and instantly Hulk leaps on him and starts punching him, sickening cracks and crunches ringing out.

"Banner, stop!" Thor yells, unable to comprehend what he was seeing - what any of them were seeing. They needed Ross alive for interrogation.

The beast turned to look at the Avengers, lips curling back to reveal teeth and gums, a roar breaking free.

Then, in a flash, he was sprinting past them and tearing out of the entrance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so theres a v likely chance i aint gon finish this fic for a variety of reasons including  
> a. my fixation on marvel has waned somewhat (currently its always sunny in philadelphia has my interest captured most)  
> b. ive sort of forgotten my plans lol  
> c. dunno if anyones still interested
> 
> but if anyones burning for a conclusion to this story then lmk in a comment and idk ill write a chapter wrapping it up or smthn but otherwise this is probably gonna b left unfinished
> 
> yeet yeet

**Author's Note:**

> i guess this is gonna have multiple chapters now?? i was gonna make it a Long Oneshot but i just did one of those and im. tired and this just seemed like a reasonable point to upload what i Have
> 
> take me to your leader will be updated eventually i promise
> 
> this fic is likely gonna b short and angsty 
> 
> comment if u want me to hurt my fav characters even More


End file.
